Trickster Of Truth
© Surazeus
2025 03 24

The great horned owl introduces the moon
into reticent room of my vast heart,
so I start my day as trickster of truth
by sending flocks of happy butterflies
to paint the world with blood-red light of dawn
that wakes everyone with language of wind.

The roots of trees draw sorrow from my heart,
translating unknown fears to humble songs
that measure curvature of my soul spine
to speak with dialect of bodied minds
which cleanses our hearts with glow of respect
through wakefulness of unmirrored desire.

In my idyllic world of steady faith
I play guitar before the empty church
and sing grand epic of the human race
that praises humble people of the state
who go about their business every day
while face-painted clowns play fake power games.

My fishing village at end of the lake
provides bountiful wealth from heart of Earth
where strong-hearted girls thrive in howling wind
and cast bright snowflakes far across the land
that sprout into periwinkles of hope
where children play chase Sabbath afternoons.

No more the world-exploring traveler
I was when I was young and vigorous,
I now am blowsy-headed gardener,
dazed by strange beauty of her sun-lit face
as we tend twisted trees of ghastly fruit
that nourish the demonic in our hearts.

Since I will never see the black egret
wade in wind-rippled pond behind my house,
I mold green shadows of weird psychic dreams
in masks that humans wear to play as cows
which graze among the dancing daffodils
while I bare my heart to the healing sun.

Packing emotional baggage of faith
with false memories my dream-fears invent,
I walk the signless road of everywhere
past ladders that extend into the clouds
to stamp obverse side of the royal coin
with face of my father, the kind storm god.

If clouds begin to serenade my ghost
with the heart-enchanting afterlife lie,
I will unanchor ship of my fierce heart
to live unsettled life on restless seas
so I can find the treasure trove of tropes
I use to build this virtual world of dreams.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/03/…

Orpheus and Ophelia fish by the lake where demonic dreams swirl just below the surface of our happiness.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #MetaRomanticism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism